


Discovery

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [13]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 15:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13790289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Invite me over, Jared thinks repeatedly in Bryce’s direction when they finally head out.Invite me over, for the love of fuck, invite me over and let me touch your dick.“I’ll drive you home?” Bryce asks.Jared’s going to cry.





	Discovery

For the rest of the week, if Jared isn’t at camp, or putting in an obligatory appearance at home so his parents don’t get on his case about buckling down and responsibility and all that shit, he’s with Bryce.

Well, at camp he is also often with Bryce, but — well, you know what he means.

It’s great, but it’s also terrible.

Great because it’s just — it’s just great, okay? Jared knows he’s being ridiculous, and some part of him is judging the hell out of himself for being this into Bryce this fast, but the rest of him thinks it’s great.

But also terrible because Jared is about to implode from sexual frustration. 

Of all the things Jared would have expected Bryce to be, down to, well, get down would have been one of the first ones. Some of that’s because of the rumours — which he’s wondering about the veracity of, but isn’t actually sure he wants to ask, and he’s not sure it’s his business anyway — but even if he’d never heard a single one of them, he’d still think that.

Like, Bryce has an aura. It is the aura of a guy who would totally be happy to get his dick sucked by someone he met ten minutes before.

And yet.

They’ve been basically dating for a week, which doesn’t sound like a long time, but considering that there hasn’t been a single day they haven’t hung out after camp — and Jared continues to worry about that whole burn out thing, looking for signs Bryce is getting tired of him, but Bryce keeps asking to hang out and Jared obviously keeps saying yes — Jared feels like it’s basically been like a month of dates on fast-forward. 

There was the coffee date (Jared had iced tea, but same diff). The wandering around a mall and refusing to let Bryce buy him whatever his eyes lingered on too long, but allowing Bryce to buy him a smoothie. The park again, but this time with bonus ice cream. That one was a terrible mistake. Bryce’s tongue plus vanilla ice cream cone equals far too much for one guy to handle.

There’s a link between those evenings, and that link is that they were all in public. Bryce hasn’t invited Jared back to his place, and Jared’s been getting less and less subtle about mentions of privacy, all _hey, Bryce, don’t you have a place of your own? That presumably has a soft horizontal surface and a door that locks and everything?_ , but nothing. Jared would think Bryce wasn’t interested, except Bryce is clearly interested. Sometimes visibly interested, Jared would go as far as to say, because the goodbye kisses aren’t getting any shorter. Yesterday’s probably would have ended in Jared dry humping Bryce’s fucking leg if the console hadn’t been in the way.

The point Jared is making is that he is going to die. Like, yes, he is aware that blue balls is a bullshit guilt trip thing, not an actual medical emergency (though it fucking _feels_ like one when he’s trudging to his front door, and Bryce cannot be having a comfortable drive to his place. That he hasn’t invited Jared over to. So honestly he deserves the discomfort, because Jared’s totally willing to give him a proverbial hand, so it’s his own damn fault). 

If he jerks off any more he’s going to fucking chafe himself. He even snapped at his mom today, which did not go over well. That’s usually Erin’s deal, not his. But he has hope, and he has a plan, and he has the fact it’s Friday, and that the weekend, with its beautiful glimmer of nights he doesn’t have to be home for dinner, has finally arrived. Jared preempts any very public (and therefore awful) suggestion Bryce might have, and asks if Bryce is down for dinner and a movie.

Bryce is, and Jared opts for the least interesting, furthest from opening weekend movie he can find. The theatre ends up being exactly as empty as he’d hoped, like, seriously, running at a loss, no one within twenty seats of their spot in a back corner, and it gets kind of — like, clothing stays on, hands stay out of pants, and Jared avoids the undoubtedly uncomfortable fallout of coming in said pants, but it’s a pretty near thing. Jared’s almost positive that if one of the few people in the theatre didn’t have a sudden sneezing fit, reminding them both that they were not actually alone and technically in public, the pants situation would not have been avoided.

Jared half watches the last five minutes of the movie while studiously keeping a distance of an entire inch from Bryce, lest he be tempted to crawl into his lap. Well, he’s been tempted to crawl into his lap the entire time, but it is not a good idea, and he will not do it.

The movie’s ending makes zero sense without context, which is fine, because Jared’s attention is mostly on trying to get himself under control enough that he won’t be walking out of the theatre looking like he spent the last hour and a half with his tongue down someone’s throat, the merest slice of dignity keeping him from putting his tongue somewhere else.

Bryce makes no move to get up when the credits start to roll, which Jared is grateful for, since he kind of needs those extra minutes to become publicly acceptable. His hair’s a mess from Jared’s hands, and Jared’s torn between wanting it to stay that way and wanting to fix it, fingers itching to get back in it.

“Your hair,” Jared says before he can give into the urge, and he’s a little sad when Bryce smooths it back into order.

 _Invite me over_ , Jared thinks repeatedly in Bryce’s direction when they finally head out. _Invite me over, for the love of fuck, invite me over and let me touch your dick._

“I’ll drive you home?” Bryce asks.

Jared’s going to cry.

*

It’s dark out, the roof’s on, and Jared’s still running off residual arousal, so things maybe get out of hand during the good night kiss that now involves way too many kisses to be properly named that. Or, out of hand is a misnomer. Maybe Jared should instead say he takes matters into his own hands. Literally. Well, it’s only one hand, but. Hands get involved.

It’s Bryce’s fault. If he hadn’t found that spot on Jared’s neck that’s wired to his dick and then ruthlessly exploited it (apparently everything’s wired to Jared’s dick, yes, but that spot is like…direct conduit. Is that right? Jared isn’t sure. His dad the electrician would not be impressed. Don’t think about your dad, Jared.), Jared wouldn’t have temporarily lost his mind and dismissed the rational part of his brain that remembered that they are _not in private_.

He goes for the button of Bryce’s jeans, is what he’s saying, Bryce’s breath fast and humid against his skin as he pulls the zipper down.

“This cool?” Jared asks, quiet. It sounds incredibly loud in the cramped space regardless.

“Fuck,” Bryce says, then, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Jared says, and then he can’t say anything else, Bryce’s mouth crashing into his as Jared slides his hand into his underwear.

Jerking off a dick that isn’t his is kind of — Jared isn’t sure how to put it.

Like, on the one hand, it’s pretty familiar, something he has more than enough practice with, especially lately, but the angle’s different, his wrist jammed up against the waistband of Bryce’s boxer briefs, twisted uncomfortably around. Jared doesn’t know what Bryce likes, whether he’s a gentle and slow or firm or fast or what, but he seems to be liking simple and straightforward well enough, judging by the way his breath hitches against Jared’s mouth. When Jared pulls away so he can look, his eyes are shut, lashes gold against his cheeks, and Jared gets caught on that for a minute before he’s more caught on the movement of his hand, somehow simultaneously hidden and unmistakable.

Jared quickly gets past the whole self-conscious ‘here I am, jerking off a dick that is not my own’ awareness, lets himself actually sink into it: the way Bryce’s mouth is almost brushing his, the two of them exchanging breath, the way Bryce’s hand has clenched around his arm, the throb of his pulse, the idea of Bryce returning the favour, though he shouldn’t get ahead of himself.

He really, really shouldn’t get ahead of himself, because basically the second he thinks it someone knocks loudly on the window.

*

On a list of the worst possible people to see him with his hand down someone’s pants, Jared’s dad is maybe not the highest, but he’s way up there, and seeing as it just so happens to be said dad on the other side of the window, this qualifies as very, very bad.

Jared’s hand needs to be out of Bryce’s pants right now. Or, preferably it needed not to be there in the first place, but it’s too late for that, so right now is what he aims for. If he does it slowly enough, maybe his dad will have missed where it was? Or is this like a band-aid, where —

Just get your goddamn hand off Bryce’s dick, Jared.

“Get out of the car, Jared,” his dad says flatly, audible through the glass.

He does not want to do that, but he can’t just cower in plain sight, so he swallows and, after shooting Bryce — who looks terrified — a desperately apologetic look, gets out of the car.

To Bryce’s credit, he doesn’t drive the fuck away the second Jared closes the door behind him, which is what Jared probably would have done in the panic of the moment. To possibly the absolute opposite of Bryce’s credit, he gets out of the car after Jared.

“Mr. Matheson?” Bryce says.

“Yep,” Jared’s dad says, instead of his usual ‘Call me Don’.

“I’m Bryce,” Bryce says, walking over and offering his hand, and Jared’s torn between admiration at the balls he’s got and wanting to hiss at him to get in the fucking car and go, especially because he’s displaying the effects of Jared’s helping hand like a billboard, flushed down to the collar of his shirt, mouth red, and — fuck, still visibly hard. Jared’s just grateful he had the presence of thought to zip his pants up before he got out of the car.

Jared’s dad looks at him, hard, and any hope that Jared might have harboured that he wouldn’t recognise Bryce as _that_ Bryce is gone.

“Bryce Marcus,” he says, and yep, gone. Au revoir, hope.

“Yes sir,” Bryce says, and drops his hand when it becomes obvious Jared’s dad isn’t going to take it.

“You’re, what, twenty-one?” his dad asks. Jared is pretty sure his dad knows exactly how old Bryce is, considering his dad could probably rattle off the key stats of most of the Flames roster and a lot’s been made of Bryce’s potential _for_ twenty, and he’s just doing this to make Bryce and Jared uncomfortable. 

It’s working, at least as far as Jared’s concerned. He has a feeling it’s working on Bryce too.

“Twenty, sir,” Bryce says. Jared hasn’t seen him act even close to this deferential to anyone, including Evanson, who’s technically his boss.

“‘95?” his dad asks.

Bryce swallows. “‘94,” he says. 

“So,” his dad says. “You’re what, four years older than my seventeen year old son?”

“Dad,” Jared hisses. “Stop.”

“My seventeen year old son,” his dad says, even louder. Jared really hopes no one’s paying attention, because this neighbourhood is super nosy, and half of said neighbours have known him since he was a little kid and seem to think he still is one. Public handjobs would probably ruin the image. “Who you’re coaching. Tell me if I’m wrong, I’m pretty sure they pay you to coach, not fuck around with the prospe—”

“I’m not fucking around,” Bryce interrupts. “Sir,” he adds belatedly. “I’m not fucking around with Jared.”

“Looked like it,” his dad says. “I mean, I’m not up with the lingo, or whatever the hell, but I’m pretty sure that was the definition of fucking around.”

Jared wants to crawl under Bryce’s car and die right now.

“Let’s go inside and talk about this?” Jared begs instead. “Where the neighbours can’t hear? And mom won’t get annoyed you’re excluding her from this conversation? Dad?”

“Why don’t you head on home, Marcus,” his dad says, and Jared can breathe again. Not easily, but — small victories?

Bryce looks over at Jared, like he wants his input there, and Jared nods emphatically.

“I—” Bryce says, then, mumbled, “I’m not fucking around.”

“Head home, Marcus,” his dad repeats, and Bryce, with one more look at Jared that Jared can’t quite interpret, does.

Which means now Jared has to head home too, gets all of a dozen steps to prepare to face his dad about this, presumably with bonus mom. 

He takes a deep breath, gathers all his bravery, and then walks to the door as slowly as humanly possible.


End file.
